Sun Tzu got it right in 'The Art of War'. My enemy's enemy is my friend. In my case, my enemy is the Canadian Slut and by proxy, (as a result of his decision to carry on an affair with her) my husband. And their enemy is our therapist. While I cannot exactly call him friend, I will in this case cite him as an invaluable ally...
Going to therapy is like going into battle. There are two opposing sides, each with their battle lines drawn up, reasonable and logical arguments in place, emotional warfare ready to go... But like any battle, there is a secret weapon, an archaic art which will lend one side a greater chance of ultimately winning. It is a secret which all of us are born with, but only a select few know how to exercise. It is the art of maintaining control of the situation. Beautiful, sweet control. What greater skill could a woman have?
The battle for emotional supremacy within the walls of our therapist's office was won soundly, by yours truly. Shed just enough tears, share just enough secrets, but provoke the right conversation and the world is yours for the taking. Husband capitulated. He said sorry. He admitted he was wrong and begged my forgiveness. With the piercing, black eyes of our therapist boring into his soft, unprotected soul, his shameful truth came gushing out. Over and over the therapist dug away at his flimsy reasons and lies to expose the bones of his choices. He cheated. He made the wrong decision. He abused my trust and love and selfishly succumbed to his own desires. Sweet victory. It tastes almost as good as fasting.
Since then, our relationship has improved dramatically. Yes, I agree with you all - husband is an a-hole. But now he is a much more honest a-hole and I still care very deeply for him, so I shall continue to tread this path of married. If truth be told, I've always enjoyed the roller-coaster much more than the merry-go-round.
The next challenge is to continue on my downward trend of weight-loss. Husband has been noticing more and more the lack of intake. I keep him mostly off my back with: "We've discussed this love, it's something I need to do, you're as extreme as I am, you have to allow me my freedom of self. I am eating, so don't worry, I have no intention of harming myself" Of course, I've been keeping to mostly fluids, occasionally a salad, a piece of toast or coffee when he's watching, but my favourite is nothing at all when I can swing it. But now there is an added obstacle, a visitor, a pseudo mother of sorts, who is staying with us for 4 weeks. Here I am, a grown woman in my thirties, worried about what my mum will say. Too cute!
And so up the tracks our little car rides, up to the dizzy heights of how far can I go? How can I keep my intake as low as possible while everyone around me insists of trying to shove food into my face? 'Tis one of the highs I live for, but now we are in lockdown, peeps. Curfew has been established and I am alone in the field with the searchlights seeking me out. In this case, I can't define my enemy's enemy. But I know who my friend is. Ana.
Bless to all, S xx